A Little Princess
"A fire I only dreamed wouldn't be HOT," she cried.
She sprang up, touched the table, the dishes, the rug; she went to the bed and touched the
blankets. She took up the soft wadded dressing-gown, and suddenly clutched it to her
breast and held it to her cheek.
"It's warm. It's soft!" she almost sobbed. "It's real. It must be!"
She threw it over her shoulders, and put her feet into the slippers.
"They are real, too. It's all real!" she cried. "I am NOT--I am NOT dreaming!"
She almost staggered to the books and opened the one which lay upon the top. Something
was written on the flyleaf--just a few words, and they were these:
"To the little girl in the attic. From a friend."
When she saw that--wasn't it a strange thing for her to do-- she put her face down upon
the page and burst into tears.
"I don't know who it is," she said; "but somebody cares for me a little. I have a friend."
She took her candle and stole out of her own room and into Becky's, and stood by her
"Becky, Becky!" she whispered as loudly as she dared. "Wake up!"
When Becky wakened, and she sat upright staring aghast, her face still smudged with
traces of tears, beside her stood a little figure in a luxurious wadded robe of crimson silk.
The face she saw was a shining, wonderful thing. The Princess Sara--as she remembered
her--stood at her very bedside, holding a candle in her hand.
"Come," she said. "Oh, Becky, come!"
Becky was too frightened to speak. She simply got up and followed her, with her mouth
and eyes open, and without a word.
And when they crossed the threshold, Sara shut the door gently and drew her into the
warm, glowing midst of things which made her brain reel and her hungry senses faint.
"It's true! It's true!" she cried. "I've touched them all. They are as real as we are. The
Magic has come and done it, Becky, while we were asleep--the Magic that won't let those
worst things EVER quite happen."